Fragments/Journal: What is Capital?

Capital achieved total saturation at that moment when door-to-door salesmen began to approach businesses of the regimented downtown, plastic trinkets loaned back and forth out of a stolen cart, the simple rites of some greater barter. In that short moment one witnessed a return to primitive technical accumulation, the total impoverishment of the box-store downtown flight, vacancy as evacuation just before capital devalorised into world escape—the largest warehouse on earth as you sought that hidden gem at the Blockbuster closeout sale. Both an automated stripmine. The street capitalist, the transient merchant, with shopping cart and 5-dollar tie mobilised by the government-subsidised Dollar Store. The dirty-one-shoed billionaire-to-be. A vague glimmer of hope before the collapse, Absolute Berlin Wall, rebuilding invisibly, Capital's 1968, and certainly not the quantum devalorisation of Russia's crisis on liberal ground. You are the living dust of the twin towers, a single commodity which can only devalorise as non-value—a famous and time-tested sales technique.

And we had better not collapse. Crocs and Bitcoin cannot be boiled down into a survival broth, nor fill wheelbarrows along Potemkin Avenue's tent city. The Cold Crisis never ends, soup lines cannot exist alongside an eternal entrepreneurial spirit of startups forever. And the empty grocery stores will never be filmed, even if the laws of infinite supply and demand are rediscovered within some new derivative spirit; no one laughs at babushkas anymore, if they want to sell their trinkets let them do it out of sight. Flea markets have their own value and caste system, we have moved on to another form of devalorisation war. There must be some final human spirit here, to be returned to subjectivity so that our image can be maintained. Who shall be left to recoup the recuperators?

A final public offering with the aesthetics of World Vision awaits us, and our enemies will not be so kind as to fuck our dead. Leave your cart here, it has a GPS tracking device, sales can go no further. And this is an unknown territory with unknown currency exchanges. Better get that walmart packed into your basement, comrade, the solar minimum is coming. Just one more trip: games for the kids, smokes and bourbon for the wife, the list is oh so long—why is victory over the sun so trying?

Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors. This last Eucharist, accumulating endless days, reveals the invisible hand of spiritual mendicity in its final vow.